


Dead Roses.

by paint_it_gray



Series: Silver Linings [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt, Lots of it, M/M, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 17:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15823512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_it_gray/pseuds/paint_it_gray
Summary: Šime has been dreaming about his soulmate as long as he can remember. It always sounded so beautiful in his grandma’s stories so why is this happening to him? What did he do to deserve something like this when all he wanted was someone to love him?





	Dead Roses.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of my first, kind of not my first actual fanfiction I've ever posted.  
> It's a Soulmate/Hanahaki AU, and when I say Angst, I mean Angst, so don't tell me I didn't warn you.  
> A huge 'Thank You' goes out to everyone who helped me finish this work and encouraged me to upload it :)
> 
> This is most likely the first part of a whole series centering around the topic of soulmates, but I won't promise anything I can't keep.
> 
> You can also find this on my [tumblr](https://paint-it-gray.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Enjoy :)

“Look, Šime. I know you think that we share the same mark,” Dejan states quietly, “but that’s not possible. I have a soulmate. You’re my friend and I love you, but you can’t be my soulmate.”

“Then let me see it,” Šime tries and reaches out for Dejan’s shirt. He knows the mark is there, he’s seen it, for god’s sake, and it’s his mark. His soulmark. 

“Stop it,” Dejan growls with a warning glint in his eyes as he takes a step backwards and bats Šime’s hand away.

He won’t give up that easily. He grabs Dejan’s shirt again where he knows the mark is.

“I have a right to! Just let me-“ Suddenly Dejan pushes him away with such force that he stumbles a few steps back and falls. He can feel his arms getting scratched up by the rough pavement underneath him. He stares at Dejan with his eyes wide open.

“That’s enough, Šime!“ he bellows. His voice is cold enough to send shivers down his spine. That look in his eyes is frightening. He didn’t think he could ever be scared of Dejan. His fucking best friend Dejan. He blinks twice. He exhales and even his breath is wavering.

“Shit, I- I didn’t mean to- Fuck. I’m sorry,” Dejan mumbles while his eyes change into something far softer, far gentler. He tries to help him up but Šime is already scrambling to his feet and getting as far away from Dejan as possible.

“I didn’t mean to do that! Please, you’re my friend.”

Šime only scoffs at that.

Friend.

 

It starts soon after that. He doesn’t notice.  

Sometimes there’s a painful sting in his lungs but it always fades after a couple of minutes so he doesn’t pay it any mind.

Until that day in training. He’s keeping an eye on Luka who’s about to pass the ball to him. Luka lays the ball off perfectly for him and he’s about to stop it when it hits him. Suddenly there’s a burning ache in his chest and in his heart. He can’t breathe. His hand clutches the fabric of his shirt right above his heart.

“Šime, are you okay?”

The ball rolls past him, long forgotten.

His vision gets blurry.

He can’t fucking breathe.

“Šime!” Luka yells and grabs his shoulders. “Look at me!” How did he get here so fast?

And just as sudden, it’s gone. He takes the most liberating breath he’s ever experienced in his entire life and his shoulders slump. He never would have guessed that fresh air inside his lungs could feel this amazing.

He inhales and exhales deeply just to enjoy the fact that he can breathe again.

“Šime, are you okay?” Luka asks, the concern evident in his voice. Šime almost forgot about him standing there.

He nods. “Yeah, I’m good,” he chokes out. He gently pushes Luka’s hands away. The midfielder continues to look at him with his eyes full of worry.

“Do you want to sit down for a minute?” he asks and tilts his head.

“Yeah. No, I-“ He waves his hand around in a dismissive gesture. “I’ll be back in a second.”

He’s on his way to the bathroom before anyone can object or ask any more worried questions. He’s trying to make sense of the haze in his mind, the dizziness and all of a sudden the feeling is back at full force.

He won’t remember how he got to the bathroom or how he started coughing violently.

He won’t recall grabbing the sink so tight that his knuckles turned white.

The only thing he will remember is breathing again and looking down at the skin to see blue petals as a too bright contrast against the white porcelain.

Blue petals.

This can’t be happening. Not to him. Not now.

 

With every day he hates Dejan a little more. Or at least he tries to. That’s probably the point of being soulmates. Is it even possible to hate someone who’s supposedly destined to be with you?

The longer he keeps coughing up fucking flowers and almost suffocating every time, he thinks it might just be.

He can’t even look at Dejan these days. Partially because he’s the one responsible for this mess but also, and that’s the much scarier part, because he’s afraid that Dejan will figure it out. Every time their eyes meet, he’s dying a little inside and the urge to gets the flowers out of his lungs grows stronger.

And that’s the hardest part.

No one can know.

He wouldn’t be allowed to play any longer. He wouldn’t be a part of the team anymore. Everyone would urge him to get the surgery done, or worse, to sort things out with Dejan. Which wouldn’t be just in his fairly biased opinion. Dejan is the one who denies their soulbond, not Šime. Dejan is the one who rejected it, Dejan is the-

He starts coughing again.

Fuck this.

 

“Šime, I can’t keep this a secret from your trainer,” Doctor Nemec says, “Although it is sometimes not treated as such, hanahaki is a valid and potentially fatal disease which should not be taken lightly. In fact, you shouldn’t be anywhere near the pitch at all.”

Šime shifts around in his chair nervously. He should’ve known this was a bad idea.

“Please, Doc! Dalić will bench me if he knows and I need to be on the pitch!” he begs. Under different circumstances, he might have been embarrassed to sound so desperate, but all that matters is the tournament.

“As I’ve already mentioned, I’d prefer you very much off the pitch as well,” Nemec argues and raises an eyebrow. He reminds him a little of his grandfather now. He’s of course a lot more distant but this disapproving stare looks awfully similar.

“All I want is for you to recommend someone who can get the surgery done fast, discreetly and well. I trust you have acquaintances or know of a specialist around here,” Šime explains and leans back with a helpless gesture.

He’s surprised when Nemec raises his eyebrows in bewilderment and takes his glasses off. It’s the first time today that he’s actually ignoring his computer and his notebook in favor of looking at Šime with his eyes full of interest and wonder.

“You want the surgery?” he asks, puzzled.

Šime’s shoulders slump and he looks down at his hands which are nervously fumbling with the rim of his shirt. “Well, he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t return my affections and has no intention of doing so in the future. Sounds like a done deal to me,” he responds and shrugs. “Besides, the sooner the surgery’s done, the better. Right?”

Doctor Nemec nods. “You are right. As a matter of fact, if you’re sure about going through with this, I will take it upon myself to discuss the risks and consequences of your decision with you. Is that alright?”

Šime returns the nod and tries to smile. It’s a little shaky, but it’s there. “I’d be glad if you did.”

“I must apologize for my disbelief. It is merely a first for me that someone wants to go through with the surgery on their own behalf, considering that an unpredictable amount of feelings will be damaged or lost.”

Šime shakes his head softly. “That’s okay. It’s just… he doesn’t even acknowledge the bond. He’s seen my mark and I’ve seen his. They belong together, without a doubt. But he doesn’t love me and I still want to live, you know?”

There’s something in the doctor’s eyes that looks like pity. Like sympathy. He doesn’t need that. Dejan doesn’t want this and Šime just wants to be alive. It’s not fair, the cruelty of this world but he can either play the cards he’s been given or he can quit. He’s not like that. He doesn’t need aces to play a good game.

 

He feels dizzy.

The whole world around him is spinning. He doesn’t really know what to think and what to worry about. Doctor Nemec has told him everything he needs to know about the surgery and his other options. He’s also advised him to talk to Dejan before he goes through with it but Dejan doesn’t get a say in his life and in his choices anymore. If anything, he’ll be glad that Šime’s feelings will be removed. He won’t be in the way of his perfect life anymore.

And there it is again. It’s a little terrifying that he’s actually used to the feeling of his air supply being cut off by now. Before he can even stand up to move to the bathroom, he starts coughing. It’s worse than the last time. He starts panicking.

He can’t breathe.

Black spots are dancing through his vision.

“Help,” he chokes out but who’s there to hear him anyway? He’s alone.

 

When he blinks his eyes open again, the room is a lot darker. He props himself up on his arms and looks around the room. At least it’s still the same place. He’s not dead. Hooray.

“You’re awake! How are you?” Šime jumps at the sudden noise and looks around frantically. He’s surrounded by blue and purple petals. Fuck.

That’s when Luka comes into view, crouching down in front of him.

“Luka…”

“You should’ve told me.”

Šime has to avert his eyes because the hurt and the betrayal in Luka’s eyes is too much to handle.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” he mutters and stares at the blue petals in front of him. They’re roses.

“Excuse me?” Luka asks and his voice is carefully quiet.

Šime still doesn’t dare to look at him. His mind is going into override. He feels helpless, exposed and most of all overwhelmed. He knows it’s likely that Luka is the reason he didn’t choke on the flower petals but he wasn’t supposed to find out like this. He wasn’t supposed to find out at all.

So he doesn’t answer.

“You’re aware that this is really dangerous, right?” Luka snaps and sits down on the edge of Šime’s bed.

He nods.

“Then please let me help and don’t just… lie there!” Luka begs. He sounds desperate. He sounds scared. He’s showing Šime the very core of what he’s feeling right now. Somehow, that makes him want to keep Luka out of this mess even more.

“I don’t want you to,” he mutters but it’s not really the truth.

His eyes don’t meet Luka’s but he can hear his groan.

“Why is everyone in this team so damn stubborn?”

He is. Šime is willing to admit that. But he doesn’t understand what’s so hard to understand about his reasoning. He doesn’t want anyone involved who shouldn’t have to worry. He’s getting surgery tomorrow and then all of this will be dealt with. He’ll continue to play and he’ll finally be able to stop thinking about Dejan and everyone will be all the happier.

Suddenly there’s someone knocking on his door and Šime sits up too fast. Everything is spinning again. He grips the mattress in support.

“Easy there,” Luka mumbles as he kneels down and steadies him with warm hands on his shoulders. His voice sounds a lot softer now than a few moments ago. His eyes are gentle and worried but Šime can’t bring himself to face him. His gaze is fixed on blue.

“Šime?”

Another knock on the door.

Luka sighs.

“I’ll get that,” he mutters under his breath. Not that Šime cares who’s at his door. As long as it’s not Dejan he’ll be fine.

Blue.

He can’t even fully despise the petals. They’re beautiful. An electric blue streaked with midnight veins. Blue roses symbolize something that is always out of reach, something that you can never achieve or get. If that’s not cruelly fitting, he doesn’t know what else could.

He faintly acknowledges Luka exchanging some words with the person at the door.

The next thing he knows is that there’s a familiar hand coming into view and an even more familiar voice that says: “Come on, Šime. Stop being a little shit and let us help.”

He lifts his head to look at Mario. His eyebrows are raised and there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Šime sighs.

He takes the offered hand anyway.

 

“That’s the point, you know?” Šime tries to explain. “I’m getting surgery tomorrow and then it’s done. I’ll be in the hospital for another day and then I’m good to go.” He’s sitting on his bed across from Mario and Luka who share Ivan’s.

Luka chews on his lower lip and tilts his head when he looks at him. He can see the surprised ‘tomorrow?’ in his eyes. Neither of them mentions it.

“And you’re absolutely sure about this?” he asks quietly. “Are you sure he doesn’t… love you back?”

Šime snorts sarcastically. “He told me to my face that it’s not possible that we’re soulmates and quite literally pushed me away when I wanted to see his soulmark because he knows just as well as I do that we share one. It doesn’t get much clearer than that, don’t you think?”

“Maybe if he knew about the hanahaki…” Luka begins but he seems to know that it’s anything but a valid argument.

“Then what?” Šime shoots back. “He would magically fall in love with me because I’m dying of flowers growing in my lungs that he’s responsible for?” He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and shakes his head with a bitter taste on his tongue. “That’s not love, that’s pity and I don’t need that.”

“He probably is in love with you without even realizing it,” Mario states matter-of-factly but there’s something else in his voice that he can’t quite place.

“Would I be vomiting flowers if he were? Just because we’re soulmates does not mean that every story is a fucking fairy tale!” Šime argues. He runs his hands through his hair and lets himself fall back so he’s sprawled out on the mattress.  

“He’s your soulmate, Šime,” Luka remarks emphatically and looks at him with his eyes full of intent. The word is starting to lose its meaning to him, slowly but surely. To him, a soulmate is just someone who doesn’t want him, someone who doesn’t think him worthy of his love.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to care about that, does he? So why should I?” Šime hisses between gritted teeth. There’s a fiery hatred growing inside of him, making his blood boil and his vision blur.  

“Because you are the only one who takes the damage here,” Mario replies with the same fury that Šime feels. “The feelings you lose through the surgery won’t come back and you don’t know how bad that’s gonna be! He’s the one who gets out of this unscathed while you’re taking the fall for him even if he doesn’t deserve it. So yeah, you should care.”

It hurts. The words hurt and they make him realize how unfair this world is. He just wanted someone to love him and when he saw Dejan’s mark… It made sense to him. Loving his best friend seemed so perfect. He knows better now and he has finally realized that the world doesn’t care about dreams. The world cares about the harshness of reality and the number of casualties along the way does not matter.

“It’s just fucking unfair, you know?” he finally mumbles and tries to hold back the tears shimmering in his eyes. “There are some people who don’t give a flying fuck about soulmates and still find theirs while I’ve been dreaming about my soulmate since I was a little child and I get this.”

With all his frustration he nearly would’ve missed the way Luka gaze shifts to Mario for the blink of an eye. The way Mario returns his stare and the reassuring smile ghosting over his features.

He props himself up on his forearms and watches them full of curiosity.

As always, Šime tongue is quicker than his brain.

“Wait… Are you two…?” He can’t bring himself to say it.

Mario and Luka share another meaningful gaze that seems to hold a full conversation within. The silence is heavy. Šime can’t believe he didn’t know.

“…Yes,” Luka admits quietly while his shoulder brushes against Mario’s arm. Just barely, but Šime catches it anyway.

He leans back again and exhales. “Oh. Wow. I never would have noticed…” he says and his voice sounds strangely hollow.

“I’m sorry, this is probably not the right time for you to find out,” Luka whispers and he actually looks guilty.

Šime moves to sit up straight again and shakes his head. “No! That’s fine!” he assures the elder. “I’m happy for you two,” he adds and a genuine smile graces his lips.

That’s when Mario stands up and leaves the room. He looks even more guilty than Luka does.

As the door falls shut, Šime can’t help but wonder: “What’s wrong with him?”

Luka smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He just looks sad. “Don’t mind him. It’s a long story.”

And it seems like that’s all he’s gonna get.

 

He wakes up shortly after sunrise. He’s too anxious to fall asleep again and it’s too early to stand up yet. He glances sideways. Ivan looks like he’s dead rather than asleep.

Šime sure feels dead.

He unlocks his phone and stares at the clock. Seven more hours to his surgery. Seven more hours until he’s done with all this. Seven more hours until he can forget about Dejan. About blue petals. About soulmates and about a dream have shouldn’t have dreamt at all. It would’ve hurt less.

He stays in bed like that, staring at the ceiling and contemplating existence until he can’t anymore. He gets up as quietly as possible not to wake Ivan, throws on some random clothes and leaves.

That’s how he finds himself on the pier by the lake. He’s watching the sun climb higher and leaves his feet dangling over the edge where they’re grazing the cool water from time to time. The scenery is beautiful. The lake lies quietly and the pines only get brushed by a soft breeze. They’re moving with the wind. It looks like they’re dancing.

Šime smiles.

Suddenly, there are footsteps on the pier.

“Hey Šime.”

Fuck.

This is not supposed to happen, he’s supposed to stay away from Dejan as far as possible. Doctor Nemec made sure he was aware of that. He tenses up but he doesn’t dare to look at him.

“Hey,” he replies and tries to make his voice sound as nonchalant as possible even though his heart starts beating faster at the sound of Dejan’s voice.

The defender sits down next to him on the pier. Its space is small enough that they’re almost touching but not quite and the distance between them is too much and not enough at the same time. He’s fighting the urge to shuffle closer to Dejan and tries to focus on the cold water flowing around his ankles instead. His heart still sings with every bit of warmth Dejan radiates.

“Why are you awake this early?” Dejan asks. From the corner of his eye he can see his fingers fidgeting nervously.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Šime replies.

“Oh.”  

It’s quiet for a while.

“So you came down here?”

“Figures,” Šime mumbles between gritted teeth and turns his head away.

Dejan sighs heavily and runs his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Look… Can we talk?” he asks and suddenly the air around them seems even heavier with tension.

“I’m not sure if there’s anything to talk about,” he spits back.

“Šime…,” Dejan murmurs quietly and the tone of his voice sends shivers down his spine. As if on autopilot, his hand curls around his side where he knows his soulmark lies below the fabric, forever etched into his skin. He flinches at the touch of Dejan’s hand on his shoulder.

“Can we…” Dejan starts but his voice can’t seem to find the right words. “I miss my best friend, you know? It’s been weeks since we’ve last talked to each other and I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

Šime doesn’t reply. As if anyone can still call them best friends anymore.

“Believe me, I am. What do I have to do to make you forgive me?”

Šime scoffs barely audible. Then he turns his head to look at Dejan. It’s the first time he’s dared to lift his head and meet Dejan’s eyes. He’s got his eyes fixed on Šime and he’s never seen the other look so desperate. Not even when they were completely alone in the quiet of their room and the shadows of the night.

Šime lifts his shirt and watches Dejan’s eyes flicker to his soulmark. It’s a compass, framed by beautiful flowers but they’re starting to wither. His compass is pointing west. Dejan’s faces east.

“This mark is yours,” he says. “We both know it. I can’t forgive you if you can’t accept that. Because you have no idea what it’s doing to me.”

He stands up and looks down at Dejan. “You have no fucking idea!”

He starts running before Dejan can say anything. His heart aches more the further he gets from the pier, from Dejan. But he can’t stay. The greater the distance between their bodies, between their very souls gets, the less air he can breathe. He presses his hand to his chest. It feels like he’s tearing his soul apart with every step he takes.

He hates Dejan for what he’s doing to him.

Because no matter how many times he suffocates, how many times he dies from the distance between them, his heart is still in love with Dejan.

It will always be.

 

By the time he reaches his room he can barely walk straight anymore. His hands are shaking.

“Šime? Šime, what’s wrong?”

Thank God. Luka.

“Luka…” He reaches out for him but his view keeps doubling Luka’s frame. “I- I can’t-“ He coughs violently. Is that blood? “I can’t breathe.”

He can’t focus but he feels Luka’s hands around his arms, holding on to him and keeping him in place.

“Okay, okay, stay calm, Šime. It’s okay, i- it’s okay…,” Luka stutters frantically. His voice trembles.

“Luka…” he chokes out and curls his hands into the midfielder’s shirt.

“I know, I know…,” he cries.

Šime sees double again.

“Mario!” Luka yells and turns away, “Mario, call-!”

Šime doesn’t hear the rest anymore.

The last thing he remembers before he blacks out is a dead blue rose, stained red, in his hands full of blood.

He’s scared.

 

Waking up is a blur again. He’s only half awake and everything hurts so bad.

“Šime. Look at me.”

He turns his head with the little energy he has left. There’s Doctor Nemec, already dressed for surgery.

“I need your explicit consent for the surgery.”

He signs the paper without thinking twice.

“You’ll lose all your feelings Šime. All of them.” That’s Luka’s worried voice from the opposite direction and he turns again to smile at his teammate. At his friend.

“What choice do I have? I’ll be dead otherwise,” Šime whispers in return and he sees Luka nod. He has tears in his eyes.

“Just… we want you to know that you’re loved, okay? Remember that.”

He watches Luka as he walks over to Mario and almost falls into his embrace. He watches how Mario presses a kiss to his hair and then rests his head on top of Luka’s. How Luka wraps his arms around Mario’s waist and the younger only hugs him tighter in return.

A genuine smile crosses Šime’s lips.

He didn’t lie. He really is happy for them.

“Are you ready?” Doctor Nemec asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” Šime replies and closes his eyes.

 

When he regains consciousness, he doesn’t remember. He knows something is missing but he can’t place what it is. He understands everything Doctor Nemec says to him about the feelings he’s lost and the unclear extent of the damage.

He just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t remember what he’s lost, so how is he supposed to miss it?

He doesn’t understand why Luka starts crying when he talks to him or why Mario can barely look at him while he clenches his fists and bites his cheek. He doesn’t understand why Doctor Nemec warns him before he gives him an injection, it doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t remember what it is like to feel. He knows there used to be something when Luka cried or when Dejan smiled at him. He knows there used to be something whenever Dejan was near him but that space is empty now and he doesn’t remember what it was like when it was still in full color instead of dull gray. It’s just the faintest brush against his skin that he can’t possibly grasp and that’s barely even there.

The only thing he remembers is what dead petals stained with blood on his skin used to feel like.

 

Luka and Mario come to pick him up at the hospital two days later.

They don’t look at each other for the whole drive back to the hotel but Šime doesn’t mind. He watches the scenery fly past him and wonders if he used to feel something when he looked at it.

When they arrive at the hotel, the whole team is waiting for them. Šime looks at them and they all seem devastated but he can’t understand why.

Before he can take another step there’s Dejan coming towards him and he can Mario growl something low in his throat.

“You should’ve told me!” Dejan cries and pushes him away. Again. Šime only blinks twice as he staggers backwards.

The next thing he knows is Dejan’s lips on his and Dejan’s hands on his cheeks and Dejan everywhere and there’s… nothing. Still nothing.

“Why did you do that?” Šime asks when they break apart and tilts his head. “I’m not your soulmate.”

Dejan has tears in his eyes and shakes his head before he turns away.

Why is he crying?

Shouldn’t he be happy?


End file.
